From Sheep to Sweater

Wool and Hair, originally uploaded by MrsMama.

Did you know that it took about a year for a woman to make a sweater in the 1800s? A child-sized sweater! And it took about 3 years to do an adult-sized sweater.

If I had to sew or make clothes for my family, I would be in big trouble. My mother tried to teach me to sew when I was younger and I didn't even have the patience to pin the pattern. I know several of you knit and sew and I admire you so much for your tenacity!

I did take this nice picture of some wool. That somebody cleaned and carded and spun and spooled. From the sheep that they raised and fed and shaved. I'm handy like that.

From Sheep to Sweater

And here's a modern-day superhero woman who actually did this.

Stick Your Face in the Sun

I wanted to share the links to the stories of 2 dear women in my life. What they are going through makes my "crisis" with the washing machine and the stink in my closet seem like a visit to the county fair.

Eileen is the mother of 3 and wife to a former Olympic athlete. She is bravely fighting breast cancer. A quote from her recent post really resonates with me. Click here to read more of her story. And prepare to be blessed.

Be sure to STICK your face in the sun tomorrow, or the RAIN, doesn't really matter, as long as you BREATHE IN LIFE, it will be a good day! love, Eileen

Karen is the wife of our dear pastor. A few months ago she was laying in a coma with bacterial meningitis, not expected to live. She sums up her experience and what she has learned from it here. It's the August 4th journal entry.

Too Late - Part Two

I pulled up in the driveway and hurried into the house. I wasn't sure what I would find. Miss Munchkin's phone call had certainly jump-started my morning, and my heart.

The sound of running water met me at the door, along with Miss Munchkin and the piercing scream of a fire-alarm.

I can't get it to stop!

Water was pouring out of our front-load washing machine at rather an alarming rate. Miss Munchkin had been using bowls and towels to catch it, but she was obviously loosing the battle. Not only was water coming out of the washer, it was still going in - trying to fill the barrel and complete its job.

I hit the power button and turned off the machine. The washer continued to fill. I wrenched the washer away from the wall and pulled the electric plug out of the socket. The washer kept filling with new water. And, of course, gushing out the old.

Empty the buckets! I called over the fire alarm. Do we have any more towels? Miss Munchkin scurried off.

I turned the handles that shut off the water supply to the machine. Finally! The washer stopped filling. By this time, the water level was half-way up the washing machine window, and still leaking out at a good clip.

I cleaned out the filter and waited for the water to empty the barrel. A few bowls and buckets later, I was finally able to open the door. There I discovered the problem. The rubber seal to the door was missing a chunk. A lovely *puppy bite-sized* chunk.

After mopping up as much water as I could, I hurried downstairs to our finished basement to see what I could do about the fire alarm. Miss Munchkin had spread a few towels and a couple of kitchen pitchers around to try and catch the water, which was dripping... through the fire alarm! I pulled up a chair and disconnected the protesting device. After one last watery warble, all was quiet. Finally!

The replacement seal for the washer door will take several days to arrive. So we are currently washerless. And entirely out of clean towels.

Tell me Not that I am Too Late

On my way back from taking Master Munchkin to Karate Camp this morning, I got a phone call from Miss Munchin. I knew, by noting the early hour, that something was not right.

What's wrong? This girl normally sleeps in. Big time.

Um, when are you going to be home?

Why?

I woke up and the fire alarms were going off and the washing machine is gushing water everywhere and it's dripping through the floor into the basement.

Are you serious?!

Yes.

Ok. I'll be there in a minute.

I hung up the phone and put the pedal to the metal.

To be continued....

I'd Like to Phone a Friend

I would love to hear your ideas on:

How to get a 8 year-old boy to love to read. Or even like to read. Or even pick up a book.

How to get Munchkins to eat fresh, delicious, beautiful homegrown tomatoes. Without spitting them out, gagging or otherwise ejecting them in any way from their mouths.

Extra credit if you can get the Master to read a book about a tomato.

Low Blow Brownies

Over the past couple of weeks, I've accidentally hurt some of the guys at martial arts class. I tapped our head instructor in the, um, cup with my escrima stick. Then I tagged a black belt in the head with a round house kick. The kick was controlled so it didn't hurt him, but he fell in an awkward way and bruised a few ribs. In another class I threw a knee a little too low on a pad and the guy holding it had to take a minute to recover. But the worst was when I was sparring with a small 12 year-old boy. I landed a kick too close for comfort and he went down, groaning dramatically. And writhing on the ground. I was so embarrassed! I mean who lands a low blow on a cute little boy?!

Now a certain amount of contact is expected and accepted in martial arts. And I have had my share of bumps and bruises. But I am either exceptionally clumsy or I don't know my own strength. Probably a little of both. The guys have been very forgiving, although they've given me some good-natured ribbing. But I was feeling really bad. So I baked a double batch of Ghirardelli Triple Chocolate Brownies and offered them as a peace offering after class. I invited everyone to take some. "If I haven't accidentally hurt you yet, there's a good chance that I will!" The brownies went over well. And I feel a little better. But just a little.

Letting Go

We said "goodbye" to our dear, old dog today. He was a treasure and we will all miss him dearly.